


First Steps

by theoxfordcommando



Series: Soul Meets Soul On Lovers' Lips [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, more makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 01:26:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoxfordcommando/pseuds/theoxfordcommando
Summary: "The evening at the Hanged Man had passed joyfully. The hours had stretched for the perfect length of time, not so long as to make anyone irritated, but not so short as to leave them feeling robbed of a good time.Everything had been a golden blur of sputtering candlelight, lukewarm ale, and general good cheer. The drink had flowed as easily as the laughter, and Fenris had marvelled to think of how content he felt here, with these people, having spent the past three years in their company."More Kisses! All Kisses!





	First Steps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GothicPrincessWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothicPrincessWitch/gifts).



This...had not been Fenris’ intention.

The evening at the Hanged Man had passed joyfully. The hours had stretched for the perfect length of time, not so long as to make anyone irritated, but not so short as to leave them feeling robbed of a good time.   
Everything had been a golden blur of sputtering candlelight, lukewarm ale, and general good cheer. The drink had flowed as easily as the laughter, and Fenris had marvelled to think of how content he felt here, with these people, having spent the past three years in their company. 

And, of course, there was something to be said for Hawke’s company, in particular. Three years they had worked together, but they had been together now for all of about three weeks. It was still exhilarating.

There was something to the way Hawke looked at him now. There always had been, but it had been more subtle before, as though he was trying to hide it. 

He wasn’t hiding anymore.

Now, when Hawke looked at him, Fenris could see in his eyes that he cared for him, could practically feel it in the way the creases at the corners of Hawke’s eyes deepened as the worry lines on his forehead smoothed. It was an expression that made him look much younger, much softer than he typically came across.  
But it was more than looks now. 

Touch was new between the two of them.   
Fenris had been hesitant at first. It wasn’t that he believed Hawke would hurt him, but the man was a mage, and Fenris had long ago learned to exercise caution around mages.   
Hawke, however, and proven to be unlike any mage, any man, Fenris had ever known.

For one thing, he had requested permission from Fenris to initiate physical contact in their relationship. For another thing, his touch brought no pain, phantom or otherwise. And Fenris could not recall a time when touch and pain had not been inextricably linked. It was a miracle of sorts, that he could be touched by Hawke and feel nothing sinister, nothing past the soft comfort he was being offered. 

Kissing Hawke was even newer.   
There was something infinitely fulfilling about kissing Hawke. It had never before been the kind of thing Fenris would have devoted much attention to. It was an activity lovers shared, and seemed to like well enough, but he had no desire or need for a lover and so the idea of kissing was largely irrelevant.   
But with Hawke…

Fenris could remember the first night he realized he wanted to kiss him. It had been a night much like this one. The memory was soft and pleasant, tinged with the buzz of a drunkenness he could almost still feel. 

It had been an evening of Wicked Grace and somehow, against his notoriously bad odds, Hawke was on a winning streak. And, subsequently, in a horrendously good mood.

A few pints was always enough to loosen Hawke. Enough to get him to push aside any semblance of the seriousness he tried so hard to maintain.   
Hawke when he was tipsy was loud and joyful, an addictive combination just to be around, and his winnings that night had left him even giddier than usual. His eyes flashing with mirth as he teased his assembled group of friends;  
“Isabela, I know you’re cheating, and yet somehow you’ve still managed to lose three hands in a row to the worst card player in Kirkwall!”

“And how do you know I’m not just cheating to let you win?” Isabela said with a smile and a wink, although the look in her eyes betrayed her bewilderment at Hawke’s unprecedented good luck. 

Hawke laughed then, loud and boisterous, and only when his gaze shifted from Isabela to Fenris did the elf realize he’d been staring. 

Hawke drew his bottom lip through his teeth as he raised his shoulders and eyebrows in unison. Perhaps the gesture was intended to express his entertained confusion, but all it did in that moment was make Fenris want him.   
Desperately. 

His eyes had been drawn to Hawke’s lips and Fenris wanted him. The desire was so forceful, so sudden and unprecedented that he’d stood, claimed he needed to relieve himself, and walked out of the Hanged Man to give himself a moment to fight back the wave of desire that even still lapped at the shores of his senses.   
When he returned to the table, he smiled at Hawke reassuringly and the game had resumed. 

They had kissed for the very first time later that very evening.   
Hawke had walked Fenris home- something he insisted on doing even though Fenris had assured him several times that it was unnecessary- and lingered a moment on the front steps instead of saying farewell and retiring his own house.

He had looked at Fenris, whose brow had furrowed at the hesitance he saw in Hawke’s eyes. Nervousness was not a look Hawke wore often.

“Fenris,” he’d said, “I wanted to know if- Or, rather, I was going to ask- It’s just that maybe, if you’d like-“

Fenris had cut him off, “I didn’t realise you were quite this drunk.”

“Maker, I wish!” Hawke laughed, then coughed.”I wondered if you’d let me kiss you.”

The words were spoken with an assuredness that had been missing earlier.   
When Fenris finally met his eyes, he saw the hesitancy had vanished, although he still retained some nervousness in the slight hunch of his shoulders.

Fenris was silent for a long moment before he spoke, slowly, deliberately; “I believe that could be arranged.”

Hawke smiled, a soft, fond smile. “Whenever suits your schedule.”

But he’d taken a step closer to Fenris, so that there were only centimetres between them. With a confidence he didn’t feel, Fenris had reached up a hand to grasp Hawke’s collar and pull the man down slightly so that their lips were pressed together. He drew back, but did not let go of Hawke’s shirt.   
When he opened his eyes, he was greeted again by that soft smile and he felt something in his chest give way as emotion that had been locked off within him came spiraling out, sweeping through his entire being. 

While he had been so stunned, Hawke leaned in to kiss him again, gentle, chaste, but deliberate. A flick of his tongue as he pulled away and stepped back. 

Hawke had left then, with a soft farewell and a softer smile.   
They had kissed four times since then, each as gentle, as chaste as their first two.

So, to reiterate, this had not been part of Fenris’ plan. To be standing here on his own front steps, out in the open, Hawke warm in his arms, his tongue down Hawke’s throat.

Fenris let out a low rumble of a groan and the hand he had in Hawke’s hair gripped tighter, tugging the mage sideways to deep the kiss even further.   
Fenris was uncertain of how long they had been standing there. He had lost track of everything but the slick warmth of Hawke’s lips, the way his insides melted whenever their tongues met, Hawke confidently answering every demanding press of Fenris against him.   
Hawke’s hands were on his hips, warm, burning. Fenris’ whole body felt flushed, his nerves over-responsive after being so long denied this simple pleasure. 

With a growl, Hawke pulled Fenris flush against him, lips still locked in the vicious give and take. Fenris could feel him, hard against his stomach, and he was certain Hawke could feel his own hardness in response, painful almost with the intensity of his desire. 

And it thrilled him even as it terrified him. To have Hawke here, hot and wanting, out in the open. So exposed. So vulnerable.

Hawke pulled away suddenly, sharply, visibly fighting the urge to lean back into Fenris, to seek out his lips again and again.   
They both stood there a moment, staring at each other, still pressed tightly together. Breathless, hopelessly aroused. 

“I-uh…” it took Hawke another moment to gather his thoughts. Fenris watched as he moved his tongue against his swollen bottom lip, as though he was at a loss for what to do with it now that it was not tangled with Fenris’.

“We’re, uh, well, drunk.”

Fenris snorted a laugh at that and let his head fall to rest on Hawke’s shoulder.   
“Indeed.” He murmured into the worn leather.

Hawke rested his own head on Fenris’ as the grip he had on Fenris’ hips loosened, though he did not pull away.  
“I should probably head home.” 

Fenris sighed and lifted his head, taking a step back to put the slightest amount of distance between the two of them.   
“I think-“ he paused, swallowed, tried again. “I think that would be wise.”

Hawke’s hands dropped from his hips then and Fenris missed his warmth immediately. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Hawke said, ridiculously fond.

“Yes.” Fenris said with a curt nod. “Tomorrow.”  
Hawke turned to go but was stopped when Fenris reached out to grab his shoulder. 

“What-“ as Fenris pressed their lips together again. A quick brush, innocent almost except for the way it made his bruised lips throb, pleasure shooting all the way down to his toes.   
When he pulled back, Hawke’s eyes were still closed, lips parted. He opened them slowly, as though waking from a particularly pleasant dream. 

“Goodnight, Hawke.” 

And with that, Fenris turned and opened the door to his mansion, stepping into the secluded safety of the dark foyer.


End file.
